


Contract Marriages: A Tale as Old as Time

by AlphaPockets



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, M/M, contract wedding, friends - Freeform, modern housing market sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 09:30:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16890003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaPockets/pseuds/AlphaPockets
Summary: The housing market sucks, even for NCOs who get paid more, with the chance to get extra housing. Brad wants a condo by the beach and Ray is sick of rooming with another person because the barracks are filled with people who can't move out. A joke about how Gunny got married got the gears turning, much to Nate's growing migraine.





	Contract Marriages: A Tale as Old as Time

**Author's Note:**

> I normally try not to write ships with actual living people, but today was a terrible day and I needed a laugh. Enjoy the lighter side of shit that happens in the military way too often to not have fun with.

It had started out as a joke. In all fairness, there had been no real intention behind the discussion.

Five months ago, Bravo was in the field for a training mission. It was one of the many pointless watches they went through for the realism. Or because their lords and masters were sadistic assholes. It was a toss up most days. But tonight, Brad and Ray were looking out in the distance. Somewhere, out there, there were cool things to see. Like desert tortoises, scorpions, hawks, and other things that thought the Mojave was worth living in. Ray pitied the sad fucks who were stationed at Twenty-Nine Stumps. Palms. Whatever, there were no palms here. Just weird Joshua Trees that looked like ugly ass bushes. But the night sky was gorgeous. It was one thing he missed about back home. In Oceanside, especially on base, they saw nothing but light pollution. The sky had some stars slipping through, but in the sweet, sweet fire-burnt hills of Southern California, the only stars they saw were overpaid humans who dallied on screens for their amusement. Out here, though, it was empty, and the stars were out. But he was not having a romantic moment with his best friend slash team leader slash constant deliverer of poetic genius in the form of overly elaborate insults. And Brad claimed _he_ was the loquacious one.

No, tonight was a conversation about how the rise in rent prices means more and more NCOs, like themselves, were stuck on base. Sure, Oceanside was not as bad as, say LA, or San Francisco. But it was brutal. Their chief advisor in this was beside them. The ever calm and wonderfully modest hot-dad, Gunny Wynn. He was lucky have bought his house a little over ten years ago when the pay of a sergeant meant something. His house was nothing to brag of, really, but he had added to it with the arrival of the second kid. The porch was cool, and Gunny even enclosed the yard for a dog. But now, he was lamenting with them over how he would be stuck on base, as well, if he were the same rank he had been now when he bought the house.

See, there were levels of pay. There was the standard pay. Then, if someone were bold and put on their big-boy pants, they got housing allowance. In places like Alabama or the Carolinas, that pay was legit. It meant the NCOs could get out of the barracks and free up space for the junior Marines without having to bunk up in one room. In California? Well, with the requirement of three-times rent, even making 4,000 was not enough at times. He had seen some nice cardboard boxes he had been told were studios. He also was sure he had seen a Prius with a bigger trunk than the living rooms in those places. And Ray had grown up in a trailer. As Brad put it best, it was plain undignified.

“It’s why so many damn people get contract marriages, homes,” Ray explained. Gunny hummed in agreement.

“Shit, that’s what Cara and I were. She was a bartender who wanted to get education benefits and healthcare. I wanted to get the hell away from base,” Gunny explained before spitting into his Gatorade bottle. “Don’t always work out well, but she had been my bartender a for months and we figured why the hell not.”

“See, even Gunny here gave into the pounding of the weenie, Brad. It’s bullshit At least you got a house out of it.”

Gunny laughed and shook his head. Contract marriages in a military town were a tale as old as time. Usually it was some lower rank fool who met a young thing they hooked up with a few times. Three weeks later, they were married and at Admin putting in the paperwork. Other times it was two gay Marines, one male and one female, who would move off base to enjoy the life they actually wanted to lead without prying eyes. With the repeal of DADT, there had been a lot of rules tightening the belt on watching weddings. Not that there was anything they could do, of course. If two Marines wanted to pay for the officiary and limit themselves to that life, so be it. Most of the time, they forgot that the adultery rule applied to them as well. They’d get caught and get busted. Or one would actually fall in love with someone else, and it became a fiasco to divorce and then remarry someone else.

“I saw this one place a few months ago,” Brad mused. “It was perfect. Little condo by the beach. It was over three fucking thousand dollars a month, Gunny.”

“Yup, I know. Why do you think your LT lives in the officer barracks,” Gunny replied easily. He stretched back, and his spine popped a few times. “He’s saving up until he can get his BAH approved.”

“Sheee-iiiit,” Ray replied and sighed. “You make, what, twenty-five, or whatever, hundred a month? I’m at twenty-two. It’s horseshit, we are bunking with other NCOs because we can’t even afford to get out. So, the barracks are overflowing with bored-ass Marines constantly on restriction. For fucking up. Because we can’t escape.”

“Not to mention all the idiots who are off base stuck on restriction,” Walt’s voice quipped from his sleeping bag. “At least you’re rooming with Garza. It can’t be that bad.”

“It can, and it is,” Ray shot back. “It’s why I’m always over at Bradley’s place.”

“At this point, you two should just get married and make bank for it. Give us a place to go that’s not the E-club to drink,” Garza laughed. “Poke won’t let us over now that he’s got another kid on the way.”

“Fuck no, you think I want to live with this horse-faced goat-fucker,” Brad shot back. But his eyes were locked onto Ray’s. They were boring through him, as if weighing the options. So, Ray arched his brows.

“How is that any better than me getting married, sergeant,” Trombley whined. Ray scoffed.

“Because, James, he didn’t knock me up first. We pull out,” Ray replied before Brad could. His smile was almost manic when his eyes flashed over at Gunny, who was shaking his head.

The guilt on his face for starting this was as clear as the stars above. He just sighed and stood up.

“This is where I have to step away for the sake of plausible deniability. Try not to give Trombley an aneurism.”

Brad was still staring at Ray with his eyes narrowed. Ray’s however were bright and glowing with humor. They widened as he waggled his brows comically a few times. All Colbert did was roll his eyes and look forward again. The sound of the men snoring, and weird wildlife took over the nightly conversation. While neither said it aloud, they were both thinking about it. After all, Brad rented his pussy for a night, so there was no risk in him getting up and married to someone else. Ray, well he was the wildcard, as always. But he was also pragmatic. He could, in theory, get more money by claiming his mother as a dependent and bank them _more_ money. Then, he could get out of the Marines at some point and use the healthcare and dependent education. Save his GI Bill for a kid he could eventually make. Suck Brad dry before they finally divorce each other, murder each other, or give into their inevitable platonic future as hetero life-partners.

 

Nothing was mentioned for a few weeks. Not until Brad found himself with a roommate. Now he, too, was truly suffering the housing market. His roommate was not just a snorer and a talker (worse, somehow than Person), but he was also in Supply. He was living with a fucking box-kicker. Who wanted to be buddies. He had followed Brad to the Gym, to the range, and to the E-Club. Finally, Poke relented and allowed him and a few other guys over if they promised nothing with end up broken or on fire. Naturally, that meant it was just Brad, Ray, Pappy, Rudy, and Poke. Walt had been planning on going over, but he got stuck with battalion duty and was stuck watching someone else’s shift for twenty-four hours because they were in the hospital. It was tense, quiet, and perfect. The crackle of the campfire they had started was nice in the silence rarely appreciated at the barracks now. The balcony was no longer home to a few corporals too poor to go drink and the one lance corporal who was either busted down for a DUI or was somehow their favorite. Case and point, the asshole beside him explaining to Rudy why Brad’s roommate was such a cock.

“If it was worth it to fucking move, I would,” Brad admitted. He had it in with the barracks sergeant, he could switch rooms. “But no where is open anymore. Everyone has a fucking roommate.”

“Dawg, I know it was a fucking joke before but,” Poke tilted his head toward Ray, who’s head snapped up from where he was talking to Poke’s daughter. “Not like you’re actually looking for a Mrs. Colbert any time soon.”

Brad felt his face scrunch and contort at the idea. On one hand, he had extensive knowledge that he could handle close proximity to Ray for long periods of time. And, despite all the shit Brad gave him, he was not half as bad as it seemed. He was not so messy as he was cluttered. Ray had never once failed a room inspection, after all. He just had a lot of shit to store along with all the shit Gabe stored as well. They both could cook, they both had the same schedule. The only real issue was, technically, Brad was Ray’s direct superior. He directly reflected on Ray’s pros and cons. He sucked the back of his top lip between his teeth and chewed lightly until it started to enflame. It was the face Ray often told him looked more like he was pushing out a massive shit than thinking.

“I lose my RTO,” Brad realized. He was caught up on that more than anything. Which was more of his hatred of change to a plan he made than the fact that it was Ray going to a different team. Ray was the best, and so was Brad. That was why they were paired together. It made sense.

“Dawg switch him for Lilley,” Poke pointed out. “If we actually get deployed, which we won’t because it’s motherfucking peace time corps, he’s a cunt hair away.”

“Or send me to Captain America’s team, I get killed off, and you get my KIA money,” Ray offered with a huff of a laugh.

Brad glared at him for the joke before looking back at his beer. He picked at the bottle’s label as he thought it over. On one hand, he would be living with his best friend, making more money, and not in a tin can with an asshole who couldn’t take a hint to save his life. On the other, if something goes south and they actually deploy to a real warzone, he would be inefficiently staffed. On the other hand, he or Ray could get orders at any time, and he would be functioning without the other man anyway. With this, even if he did get orders, now his best friend would get moved with him to either the same base or one close enough to still live together. On the other hand, it could compromise both of them with the men of their units. Just because gays were okay in the military, not that he and Ray were planning on fucking if they had a ring on it, there would still be a bit of distrust. On the other hand, …

“Homes, if you don’t stop overthinking this, I will break my promise to Poke and throw you in the fire,” Ray replied and dragged his hand down his face. “We get married. We fucking make bank. You get that stupid fucking beach condo with the damn hot tub built in and garage space for the actual love of your life. I get space to fucking have my instruments. And we don’t have to share our washer and dryer with god knows how many cum-stained bed sheets, waiting for the laundry room to flood half the hallway again so it looked like the fucking Victoria Falls going down the stairs.”

Brad blinked. There were a lot of good points made in that span of time where Ray refused to breathe.

“I’ll even suck your cock,” he added on. The wince and hiss of pain told Brad Ray had finally crossed the line for Poke when it came to what was said in front of his daughter.

“I mean, when you put it that way,” Brad replied with his lip pulling back into his vicious half grin.

“I better be your damn man of fucking honor,” Poke told Brad, pointing right in his face as he stood to get more beer. “Three of us get to be in this fake-ass wedding. Rudy will cry if you don’t give him a chance to play it up.”

Now Brad was scowling again. He was not planning on making a show of it. But there was something about the way Pappy was watching him that meant some wholesome knowledge was about to be dropped on him with that slow drawl.

“Sixta won’t believe it and approve of anything if he thinks you two are lying,” he pointed out. “Get some Walmart bands, a few pictures. Anything that can be searched online, social media or whatever, change it over. At least for a few months.

Brad sighed and rubbed his face again. He did not like this part. But, again, bigger picture. He could… swallow his ego for a little to get what he needed. Be strategic. Pragmatic. Play the system. He never thought he would be the one to do this after so long of strongly proclaiming to do the other. Poke sat down, and Brad exhaled. He looked over at Ray, pursed his lips to the side, the way he did that made a dimple peak through, and shrugged. Brad looked over his shoulder at the fire pit and the nice-enough backdrop of the setting sun. He looked back again at everyone around. It fit the scene he would, in theory, want if he were to propose to someone. Who was not his best friend. Brad unlocked his phone and slid it over to Rudy.

“Pap, can I borrow your ring for a moment? Let’s get this fucking over with,” Brad asked as he stood up. “I will have to warn my mom and sisters, so I best have a few shots waiting for me after that call.”

 

“Brad,” Nate clipped before he stopped and exhaled out his nose. It was funny to watch how the young officer had to visibly swallow whatever less-than-professional comments had originally come to mind.

They were in the officers’ office for the company. Currently, it was only Nate and Gunny. Gunny was looking at the wall, trying not to give away that he had any idea this was happening prior to this moment. Instead, he was calmly spitting into his bottle and getting onto the site to get whatever paperwork they needed to fill out for this. Yet, there was a glow of humor in his eyes. Nate, however, was staring at a point somewhere by Colbert’s elbow where it bent behind his back while the towering sergeant stood at parade rest. His lips were pressed tightly together, and his green gaze was unblinking and filled with both annoyance and admiration for the audacity of the moment. His nose flared as he composed himself again and the officer façade was neatly back in place.

“You two are engaged,” Nate repeated finally. His voice was filled with disbelief. He looked at the two men. Brad had that Iceman face that made him almost impossible to read. Ray, however, was glowing. It looked like joy, but it was giddiness at getting away with something. Nate knew better. He sighed and looked at the pictures published on Facebook. With over 90 likes and 200 comments, no less. Both were tagged, and their statuses were changed. It was also on Ray’s Instagram, his twitter, and apparently a few more pictures were posted on SnapChat.

The last he knew because Trombley was bitching about having to see the gayness of his fucking corporal thrown in his face. As if Trombley had not watched the men hump each other the moment someone bent over for more than a second. He had to hand it to Rudy, who apparently took the pictures for them. They were nice shots. Proper rule of thirds, excellent lighting from the fire and sunset. Poke’s wife had done wonders to their small backyard while they were away on training. If he did not know the men before him as well as he did, Nate would be happy to see two of the best Marines he had ever known finding happiness. He did, however, know the to men before him and could see the fact that they were both _very_ proud of themselves. Defeated, Nate huffed out a sigh and leaned against the desk with his arms crossed over his chest.

“When is the wedding. Soon, I’m assuming,” there was no question. He knew where this was going.

“Well, they don’t allow engaged Marines to bunk together in the barracks, sir,” Brad replied easily. “As I already told Ray he can’t wear a gown, it seems that’s one more thing not to save up for.”

He really wanted to slap the smirk off his sergeant’s face. The one that was very much there and yet not. It was in his eyes. Nate closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. These men were going to make him an alcoholic. 

“Gunny and I will get you the paperwork you need for this. Make sure you attend the Family-Team Building classes for newlyweds. Once you get the certificate notarized, bring it to IPAC and get your pay and stuff taken care of. I’ll talk to the captain about this, but for now, it’s fine that you switch with Lilley.”

Ray and Brad smirked at the same time. It did nothing for the headache that was growing behind his eye. Neither did the way Mike spit into his bottle with force that betrayed a laugh. He dismissed the two men and watched them leave from his place against the desk with his ankles crossed.

“I never thought I’d rather deal with the idiocy of Marines in combat,” Nate sighed. This time, Mike laughed outright. “I hate you.

 

For a “simple” wedding with “nothing planned” except a way to apologize to Mrs. Colbert for the wedding being a sham for money and housing, it became a thing. Partially because Brad was a Mama’s boy and genuinely felt bad that his mom sounded put-out that his “I’m engaged” was not the love story she hoped for. The other reason was the fact that his unit was filled with a bunch of assholes. Those who did not act grossed out by what happened were insistent on being there. Now, what was supposed to be eight Marines and Brad’s mother, father, sisters, and one brother-in-law turned out to most of his platoon and a handful from others such as Kocher and his team. They opted out of the dress blues look, though Walt laughed and pointed out in a few months they could take corny pictures as a couple for the ball. They did, however, at least dress nicely for it. Brad groaned as his mom had fussed over how he refused to wear a tie (regardless of the fact that it was in Gunny’s backyard and roughly 101).

It also meant at the “you may now kiss the groom,” bit the officiary insisted on saying, there was a cacophony of jeers and wolf whistles from the extensive peanut gallery. All of whom were on the patio with beers in their hands except for Poke, Pappy, Walt, Garza and Rudy. It was also not their first kiss. The first one was for their engagement photos. It had been awkward, clumsy, and thankfully half covered in the darkness of the coming night. This one was met with loud demands for more tongue. The nervous laugh of the officiary gave both men an excuse to not do that. Instead, they let the sweet lady sign the papers with them, take her two copies to mail off and depart. Then it was time to just get drunk and apologize to their family about what they had to suffer through. Ray and Brad promised to at least make it up to Mrs. Colbert with dinners over the house and full reign to help decorate. 

Unfortunately, his sister joined in with the Marines on their call for more action. And after a good few shots, beers, some excellent cooking from Cara, and lots of loud crowing from the unit, Ray and Brad gave in to shut them up. It was not the worst kiss either had ever had, but with how intoxicated they both were, it was not ranking high on any list.

 

Now, they were finished setting up their lovely condo a few blocks from the beach and a short drive to the main gate. It had taken them roughly three months to move in fully and get it furnished. That had been the real adventure. Brad’s roommate found out he married another guy and made himself scarce for the last few days before they moved. It was ironic, as he was always up Brad’s ass anyway. But during one of the drunken nights after the E-Club, he and Ray decided to purchase a bed. In the morning, they found they had bought a California King, which left little for them to get Ray’s bed. It arrived two days after the pair got the keys and had used Pappy, Walt, and Garza’s trucks to move their stuff to the condo. With no where else to sleep, Ray had loudly proclaimed the left side to be his until further notice and flopped on the unmade bed. With how much space they had on it, getting a second bed was of low priority. Instead, they got other things. A desk for all of Brad’s electronics. A few bookshelves for their impressive book collection. A couch. A few chairs. A nice dining room set. Two bureaus that needed to go into the spare bedroom because the bed took most of the master bedroom. A second desk for Ray’s stuff and his guitars lived in the second bedroom with a futon they would move to the living room eventually.

They got two sets of patio furniture, as they had the balcony and the rooftop terrace. Ray demanded a really nice grill and good cookware. Now, they had just about everything they needed. Except the second bed. But the rule was now no bringing home whomever they wanted to fuck, and it was fine. Besides, the second bedroom became the project room. The garage was home to the bike, Brad’s parts, and Ray’s beat up old car. They went about life oddly normal for two bros who moved in together not that long ago. They both took Ray’s mother as their dependent, so the extra money was more than enough to afford the ridiculously overpriced condo. As Brad made more money, they rent came from his account. Ray handled the utilities, vehicle payments, insurance, HOA, and groceries. Whatever else was sent over. They got up and usually just took the car to base and back in the morning unless Brad knew he had other things to do. They drove back and showered after PT and brought their breakfast back with them.

It was not until they were cleaning their weapons while at the range, debating what to make for dinner (Brad did not want Mexican to Ray’s horror, and Ray was not in the mood for Italian) that Lovell finally looked at them like they had sprouted a few dozen heads. Or in this case, unicorn horns and were vomiting rainbow glitter.

“I know you two are fake married and shit,” he told them shaking his head. “But holy shit are you two gay.”

Brad made that face when he looked both affronted and confused by the information presented to him. His brow furrowed, and a small frown bloomed over his lips. Ray just gave his goat laugh and tossed his head back.

“You’re just mad because you’re still eating chow hall slop. Meanwhile, Bradley here gets to enjoy some sweet homecooked food. If he makes up his damn mind.” He looked at Brad before going back to cleaning his barrel. “So not Mexican, what if I just do steaks.”

“We need to get more charcoal if we want to do steaks,” Brad informed him as he snapped back to reality. “We used the last of it for Columbus Day.”

“This is what I mean,” Lovell interjected. He was met by both sets of eyes snapping to him. “You guys have gotten fucking domestic.”

He looked to Poke and Doc Bryan for help. Both shook their head and smirked. Poke being the married man was the one who looked at them with a knowing gaze. But he kept his mouth shut. That was what made the confused look cross Brad’s face for a moment. Was this not normal for two people who lived together? It was just easier to cook meals together and plan it ahead of time. He looked at Ray, who shrugged.

“I can do steaks,” Brad finally replied. “We’ll stop at the PX on the way out.”

“Commissary,” Ray corrected. They both ignored the way the other three men snorted. “Unless you don’t want corn or something else.”

Brad, however, was glaring at Poke. And Poke was watching right back with those sharp eyes just glowing with amusement and enjoyment. His face said it all, and Brad cursed himself for it. Rather than giving him the satisfaction, the man waited for them to be home.

It was still warm out, as it was Southern California. But the ocean wind was now crisp as it blew against them. Ray had his sunglasses on top of his head now that the sun was setting. Their steak was covered and marinating as they sat looking over the water at the sunset with beers in hand. They both had on long shorts and their olive drab skivvy shirts. Brad was surveying the scene from a third party. An unbiased one, like the neighbors who sometimes waved to them while they were cooking. Two young men who rarely argued and had friends over living together. Cooking together constantly and talking about plans to move around the second bedroom, as Ray’s mother wanted to come down for Thanksgiving. In the three months they had lived together, no other person of interest came over alone. It was always a few of the guys—mostly Walt, his girl, and Garza. They left together came back together. Brad groaned.

“Fuck,” Brad finally admitted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ray look at him.

“It’s not ideal, I know, but I can’t let my mom stay at a hotel if we have space for her here,” he argued.

“No. Ray, not that.” Brad snipped out as he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “We’re… fucking married.”

Ray blinked a few times.

“Yeah, Brad. That’s why we can afford the condo. Are you finally remembering what we agreed on like… four months ago?” The sarcasm in Ray’s voice and how easily he was accepting this was infuriating. Enough to make him groan. “What, is it that fucking bad living with me?” And now he sounded panicked.

“No, that’s the issue, Ray. This has been too normal. We argued over dinner in front of the other men,” Brad replied with a bit of desperation hitting his voice.

“We were not arguing, calm down. The last time we argued, it was over the fact that I hated the hutch your mom gave you before you told me it was your grandfathers.” It came out calmly, but them Ray looked like he had been hit in the back with a two by four. “Jesus Christ.”

There was a long silence as they both let the realization settle between them. Brad coughed a few times. Ray shifted in his spot, making the stiff cushion squeak under his weight.

“I mean. We’re bro-married. It’s not like you can’t go out and get laid without me caring,” Ray told him with a laugh as he stood up to check on the steaks. But there was a lingering voice in the back of his head, reminding him that this would end when Brad finally found someone real. And it must have shown in his face. Fuck his expressive eyes.

“Because we’ve been so ready to go get laid,” Brad replied. He, however, did not move. He just kept watching the way the sun set over the water from his dream condo that his best friend helped him get. Sonovabitch.

“Yeah, well,” Ray replied. Less to argue and more to fill the silence. “Could be.”

Brad sighed and looked over at Ray, who was fussing with the grill. Just like the first few times, including one that almost cooked his face, the smaller man seemed to have a hard time grasping how much fluid to use. Brad stood up and crossed over in a few steps to take the container from Ray’s hand with a soft, “Hey, hey.” He leveled his friend (husband?) with a gaze then lit the grill while leaning back and pulling Ray back with him. Ray coughed and made a strange skipping motion as he walked into the kitchen through the doors and got the corn and potatoes to grill with the steaks. He seemed to gain his confidence back at the distance, so Brad let him stay there. Instead he waited for the flames to calm down before getting ready to drop the steaks.

“Does this mean we can get a dog,” Ray called from inside. His humor was back. It made Brad’s half smirk pull.

“We don’t have time for a dog, Ray. We work too much.”

“What about a cat,” Ray was looking at him through the open door. There was something hopeful and pleading in his eyes that caught Brad off enough to agree. It was rewarded by a smile. One that made Brad’s grin grow.

“We’ll go Saturday to look at some at the rescue,” Brad promised in the same easy tone he would use when planning their weekly grocery trips. That was just another hint at how odd this really was.

“I think I owe you a blow job,” Ray added. He was closer this time. Close enough to see the way brad’s cheeks colored if the laugh was anything to judge by. The patio lights flicked on and Brad kept his eyes on the fire. It was safer than turning. 

He stepped back as Ray started laying everything out on the grill. His mind was uncomfortably, pleasantly blank from that comment. He had made that joke at Poke’s house. He remembered it. And the way Ray complained about the bruise on his shin for a week after. It had been a joke then but now? Maybe he did need to get out and get laid. But his hand only gripped the neck of his beer bottle as he watched Ray work with comfort. He had been the one to grill at the barracks parties they had. All along the barracks were small, shitty grills and tables. A few times, he and some of the other guys put money together during the long weekends to throw a small party. With NCOs allowed one 12 pack per person in the barracks and pooling money for the food, they threw impressive parties. He never realized how much he enjoyed watching Ray yell at everyone while he cooked with his sunglasses on and the tongs in hand. He realized it now.

Ray felt him staring and turned. His brown eyes looked up at him. Worried about crossing a line. Confused why Brad was staring silently like a creep. Scared that he may have ruined whatever the fuck had been happening between them. And self-conscious now that he had put that out there. Himself out there.

“Ray,” Brad finally responded with that fond exasperation. He looked up and into the house for a moment. “Let’s just start with the cat.”

He would have smiled. He wanted to. Really his mouth was trying with all the might those muscles had. It was just really difficult to do so when a Viking idiot decided at that moment to go in for a kiss.


End file.
